I hurt. I always thought when you die you go to a better place, one where you feel great. I don’t believe in heaven or hell, but instead in more of a higher plane of existence or perhaps a different dimension—one that doesn’t include pain. Then again, maybe I was wrong and this is hell. That would explain the throbbing in my chest.

  I figure I’m still alive. My chest burns where the diamond had been placed and I feel extremely weak, too weak to open my eyes. Someone has placed me on a cot or makeshift bed with my arms beside me, no longer tied behind my back. I hear voices far away but can’t tell what they are saying. I drift back to unconsciousness.

 
Lorena Angell's Novels